


Petrichor

by Zuezette



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bounty Hunters, Gen, Hallucinations, Minecraft Manhunt, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Stalking, dreamnotfound, idk how to mark relationships as platonic help, no beta we die like george in manhunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zuezette/pseuds/Zuezette
Summary: "What do you want Dream"Dream stepped closer and bent down to George's ear as rain pelted down upon them."You."George's breath hitched."Let me rephrase that," Dream continued slyly, "Your head."
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	1. Forest

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work and im not gonna proof read much but i hope you enjoy! and keep in mind there isnt going to be any smut here and it isnt actually a dating fic unless u wanna see it as such. I'll also be adding more tags as i go as i havent fully planned it out yet. lastly, ill update as often as i can unless i get hit with writers block or too much schoolwork, criticism is always appreciated!!
> 
> 1.1k words
> 
> Suggestions for additional tags would also be helpful cuz idk what to use lmao

George heaved, his chest hollow as he struggled for breath. A sharp blade nicked his ankle and he’s gasped in pain, falling to the floor, blood cascading into the undergrowth.

He wondered if it would make the leaves grow red.

The attacker tripped, unusual to George for he seemed to constantly be nimble and at least 3 steps ahead, and his hands landed with a thud on either side of George’s head, the strings of his neon green hoodie dangling almost comically in George’s face. George looked up into the soulless eyes drawn on to the mask and his breath caught slightly in his throat; the childish smile mocked him. Leaning menacing towards George’s head, the masked man began to whisper.

“Hello Georgie,” his breath smelt of potions and cinnamon George noted to himself, “It seems I’ve caught up to you.”

Sharpened nails scrapped down Georges face and rivulets of red began to trickle to the floor, pooling at the back of his neck. The forest heaved silently.

“Of course, I’m not going to kill you. That wouldn’t be any fun would it? But you’re getting sloppy George, one of these days I’m going to get to you, Dream is going to get you.”

George lay motionless, blood still dripping onto the forest floor. The masked man, Dream, walked slowly into the darkness behind without caring to look back.

George knew he’d come back, he always did.

—

He needed to move but he was cold and tired, so very tired. Moving to sit, his face turned pale and he was sticky, why was he sticky? His eyes widened in horror as he realized the ground was red, so, so red. It couldn’t all be his blood right? Surely he’d have died now.

He sat up and shuddered slightly, his blue shirt hung loose on his body. The skeletons he saw had more body fat than him at this point, constantly running burned calories far faster than he could consume. Not that he ate much, food was scarce and villagers weren’t exactly fond of anyone on the run, most were traitors or deadly criminals. He couldn’t understand why Dream was hunting him, manhunters had been outlawed decades ago. George didn’t think he was a murderer or traitor, however his memory had never been that reliable. He did know he had to be wary of skeletons however, and he’d learnt that the hard way.

Skeletons weren’t good.

He noticed the air had turned metallic and he looked to the sky, standing up abruptly. He stumbled backwards as the little of the forest he could see turned deep red and began to drip from above, droplets splashing to his up-turned face as he searched desperately for an escape from the unrelenting tide.

The blood began to splash at his ankles and he gagged in disgust, what little food he had managed to eat quickly leaving his stomach. The overgrown vines above his head glistened, slick and warm as he flailed desperately from some purchase.

His sight flashed and the blood started to rise faster, faster than any flash flood he’d seen. It was sickeningly warm and quickly waist height, it was like trudging through tar. George clung desperately to a low hanging branch, pulling a boat from his inventory but it was washed away before he could force his hands to cooperate. The blood covered his head and he sucked in a last breath, letting himself sink slowly to the floor.

It was warm, disgustingly so and yet strangely comforting. He felt like he was in a bubble, safe and encompassed, away from all potential harm. No one could get him here. Fog began to seep into his mind and soon coherent thought was nigh-on impossible, with an almost movie style fade, the fog took over and darkness seized control of his thoughts.

—

Pale moonlight shone through the dappled shadows from the canopy and he blinked slowly, rubbing a hand across his face to clean the sleep from his eyes. George blinked again. And again and then one more time. His hand was dry, no trace of the suffocating blood from what seemed like moments and yet also decades before. He must’ve imagined, perhaps it was a dream? The blood at least must’ve been a hallucination, seeing Dream definitely was not, perhaps he’d passed out from blood loss and his mind had dreamt it up to cope. Taking a small second to attempt to gather his jumbled thoughts (though to no avail) he slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up, the taste of metal a mere ghost on his lips.

The floor was damp, a reminder of the recent storms that had been plaguing the servers. Rain was unrelenting, washing away houses, villages, people. Flash flood had quickly become the norm and many had vacated their homes in search of higher land, flocking desperately to mountains deep in the wilderness and beyond in an increasingly frantic search for safety. George knew the mountains were dangerous, landslides, sheer cliffs and freezing temperature stalking behind anyone daring to climb, almost every mountain city was plastered in missing posters. Weathered signs of young children beaming with gap-toothed smiles or adults with sunken and defeated eyes haunted the nightmares of many, half washed away by the persistent downpour.

George hated the rain.

George hated the mountains.

George hated the stupid fucking posters. 

His left foot slipped in the mud and he cried out in shock, quickly finding himself in an eerily familiar position. Ominously dark shadows caught his eye and he almost expected to see Dream barreling towards him, his creepy mask staring straight into George’s soul.

Since he was a kid George had been told the eyes were the window to the soul. From just a mere glance someone could see everything you truly felt, everything you truly meant, even if you hadn’t disclosed it. George liked to wear his sunglasses a lot.

It was often given as the reason endermen avoided eye contact. Thought to be pure beings, seeing the faults and sins of a human would be physically damaging. This was, of course, only relevant if you came into contact with an endermen, something few did and even fewer survived and those were often far too traumatized to talk about the experience. George liked to think his glasses would protect him if he were ever encounter one but he knew it was little more than a silly fantasy, same as believing people could see your soul through your eyes.

Turning away from the darkness, George began to walk further into the forest, leaving the ominous section behind.

As he walked a small, almost unnoticeable trail appeared behind him, blood red and sticky.

—

A single rain drop landed on steel, bouncing off with a small ping, and lips curled into a smile, green eyes glinting menacingly as they followed the blue clad boy who skulked off into the shadows.


	2. Manhunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this veryyyyyyy early, dont expect daily updates cuz im going back to school after the weekend, also follow my priv twitter @RubyIsntHere_ 
> 
> Guess who the new guy is, defo isnt obvious at all! Slightly shorter, more backstory heavy chapter here but hopefully it doesnt seem too forced, enjoyyy <3
> 
> Chapter: 1k words  
> Story: 2.2k words

George had been walking for hours. Sun-rays beamed down on his neck, blistering his skin a shiny pink and making his dark hair overly hot. The four long scratches on his face had since scabbed over but were still sore to the touch and every accidental jostle against a tree, or a vine to the head felt like it was happening all over again.

The soles of his worn shoes beat against path. He wasn’t sure what had made it, most humans wouldn’t dare walk in such low land nowadays and almost all passive animals stayed far away from the woodlands. Of course there was always the undead but, if he was lucky, that wouldn’t be the case. George knew that most who had the unfortunate chance of encountering the undead didn’t live long enough to tell the tale.

There was, as always, exceptions to the rule, this being the extremely lucky, the extremely smart, and the Manhunters.

Manhunters had been a rather odd collection of people, all former trained knight working for one person or another, seeking either money or fame in a world twisted through self appointed dictators and lowly criminals. Trained since they could walk, their only goal to capture their target. For many the fame of the job wasn’t enough and they needed money, hence the massive influx in bounty hunters in the years following the initiation of the Manhunter Decree. Hunters had to been made illegal decades ago due to the danger, many manhunters weren’t pleased.

Mass murdering had inevitably followed.

The intensive training given to the Hunters was unmatched. Rumors had it they could take down even the strongest of the undead, some even claimed they could go to hell and back, George assumed this was a metaphor. Hunters had also been prepared to kill at a moments notice with no remorse.

George wasn’t a fan of the hunters.

Thank god they were no longer around, if Dream had been a Manhunter George was sure he’d be dead. This, however, lead to the ever-pressing question: What did Dream want with him?

—

Wind rustled eerily throughout the forest and storm clouds lazily rolled in, almost completely blocking out what little light was peeking through the leaves. Animals skittered across Georges feet and the occasional mosquito would land on his arm. The gentle pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall, filling his ears and he sighed in disgust.

The darkness was making it much too hard to continue and he’d only end up soaked, something he couldn’t be bothered with after the traumatic events of the previous night. Cautious not to thinking much of it, George settled against the roots of a tree and closed his eyes; slipping blissfuly into sleep with his bag in his lap, hands clasped loosely round the single stone knife in his possession.

A very different man watched from afar, metal cool against his face, green eyes open and alert, ears tracking every single sound. George’s incompetence was almost humorous to him, oh how easy it would’ve been to sneak up on him each night and do a quick cut to the throat, he wouldn’t even know it happened.

Of course that would be boring, Dream would much rather torment him, stalking his bloody footsteps across far lands. That had been a rather ingenious idea on Dream’s part: enchanting George’s boots with a curse he’d found quite by accident, a frost walker solution turned bad after a single drop of blood came into contact.

Dream liked to experiment with such things.

There was, more often than not, incidents were he would mess it up. His hands were a museum of scars and burns, often he would recount to himself the stories behind each one when the nights got late and life got boring.

Boring wasn’t really a word Dream would use to describe his life, he always seemed to be going somewhere or doing something. He’d travelled to hundreds of places in the past few years and seen so many beautiful things, some less so such as the time he’d come across a rotting sheep carcass or watched a zombie dismember a villager. He’d even been one of the few to visit the Nether, aptly named as many could never dream of reaching it or believed it didn’t even exist. Dream liked it for its fast travel options, despite it being the cause of most of his burns.

He shifted his weight slightly, the crystal sword that hung at his hip grazing past his thigh. The forest was even denser here than yesterday, if that was even possible. His hands itched to throw another concoction of pufferfish venom at George, watching him suffer the hallucinations had been rather funny in Dream’s opinion. Reaching for his inventory, he stopped as the forest held itself unnervingly still, something was coming.

Dream darted up a nearby tree, resting in the canopy and careful to keep at least one eye trained on George. He cursed as a branch groaned under his weight but the noise was muffled by the incessant cracking and snapping caused by something running straight towards them both. Almost causing himself whiplash, Dream twisted his head towards the noise just in time to see a young man sprint into the vicinity. His white shirt was muddied and stained in what appeared to be dark cobwebs, his arms had blood flowing freely towards his wrists despite the evidently hasty attempt at bandages, his eyes open strangely wide; had anyone been around to see this they would’ve perhaps pitied the man but Dream had long since been desensitized to such things.

Perhaps he should spare the poor man, he looked to be on the way out anyway it wasn’t worth killing him.

The man stopped at Georges feet and Dream’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. He couldn’t risk someone else getting his target or weeks of work would be wasted in a single moment. He need not fear however, instead the stranger sat down across from George and seemed to drift off to sleep without a mere moments hesitation.

His grip loosened and a low sigh escaped. For now everything should be fine, the man was in no shape to hurt George and if worst came to worst Dream could easily take him out with deft swing of his sword or a quick splash potion near his head, perhaps for once he could sleep easy for a night. This man was no threat, he clearly wasn’t a Manhunter, and Dream would know.

Dream would know.


	3. Spiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy, this is gonna be the last daily update till next weekend sadly but ill try to do one or two in the week! Its pretty dialogue heavy here but hopefully its ok. Stay safe and drink water ily <3
> 
> Follow my twitter @/RubyIsntHere
> 
> Chapter: 1k words  
> Total: 3.2K
> 
> CW for spiders in this chapter btw

The sun had risen once again, albeit noticeably weaker than the day before, and George opened his eyes, painstakingly slow. An outstretched hand was offered to him and he almost deigned to accept it before pulling back in shock, mind reeling. Above him stood a stranger, imposing, sure, but not particularly tall. He did seem to be injured but it probably wouldn’t affect him too much. Either way George didn’t like the odds one bit.

He looked round for some form of escape but he seemed to be trapped, in less than 36 hours he’d found himself trapped by strange men twice, hopefully the second didn’t go the same as the first…

“Who the fuck are you? Get away from me!” He hissed, careful to keep his voice down, just in case.

The stranger took a small step back, “I’m Sapnap.”

“Why are you here?” George responded

“Im running, and from the looks of it you are too, and I figured we could work together.”

George took a moment to contemplate this idea, it seemed rather absurd in all honesty, not to mention ridiculously dangerous. Sapnap was around the same height as George but evidently didn’t struggle as much with finding himself food for he was bulkier and more muscular, he also had an axe that was far shinier than George’s knife, probably iron. Weighing up the pros and cons, George twisted the polished stone blade in his hands.

Sapnap was running.

Runners were usually murders or traitors.

“What are you running from?” He finally asked.

“You want the honest answer or the cool one? ‘Cause honestly, I accidentally set a house on fire.” 

“Thats not really enough to warrant running though is it? Risking flash floods, wardens, prison and death all for accidental arson.”

“Wardens?”

George exploded, “You don’t know what a warden is, how have you survived even a day out here?”

“Im just lucky I guess,” Sapnap replied with a grin, “And trust me I wouldn’t have run aside from the fact there may or may not have been people in there.”

“You burnt someone alive!?”

“Accidentally.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. George supposed he could let this guy tag along, who knows, perhaps it would actually help him get food and ensure safety rather than just barely staying alive. 

Deep down he knew he was missing company anyway. Scuffing his foot on the floor, he stood up and looked Sapnap dead in the eyes.

“You can come with me but we need to establish some rules here, you’re gonna help me get food and stay alert,” He gestured to Sapnap’s arms,” I’m gonna clean up your arms and we can talk along the way. If I ever decide you need to leave then leave, ok?”

Sapnap nodded. 

“Good now do you have any medical supplies?”

—

George and Sapnap began to walk, the silence between them more than uncomfortable. What did you even talk to an accidental murder about anyway? George for sure didn’t know. He’d done a pretty good job of bandaging Sapnap’s arms; using the little dressing he had left to cover the deep, most likely infected, cuts. The other guy wouldn’t tell him what had caused it but George still had his suspicions.

He didn’t like secrets.

After Sapnap walked absent-mindedly into the 5th tree in three minutes, George finally caved. 

“So what actually happened to you? And don’t give me some bullshit spiel about falling over or being clumsy.”

Sapnap mumbled something unintelligible, his head angled down to the mud.

“Speak up idiot.”

“I was walking,” Sapnap started with a sigh, “I’d left my village about a week ago after the, you know, ‘incident’. I’d been pretty lucky so far and only really seen zombies or skeletons from across the plains. I just wasn’t paying attention and went a bit too far into this cave up some mountain or some shit, before I realized what an idiot i’d been the fucking rain caused an avalanche and blocked the entrance.” 

He paused for breath, voice shaking slightly, and George nodded along.

“I went deeper, I don’t know why, I think I was looking for an exit cavern? I came across a mineshaft and suddenly there was just cobwebs, everywhere. Something was spinning around so I went looking closer and next thing I knew three, maybe four, spiders jumped me and bit my arms, I passed out from blood loss and then,” his voice cracked and salty tears trailed down his face, “And then I started to hallucinate I was drowning, drowning in my own blood. I don’t understand how I didn’t die but when I woke up I was surrounded by the bodies of the spiders and they’d been badly fucked up. Also the spinning thing was gone.

At this point their walking had slowed to a halt.

“Its been 6 months and the cuts still haven’t healed.”

—

Dream watched the two boys from afar, it hadn’t been hard to track the two of them, they weren’t exactly subtle. 

He wasn’t sure what had happened, those sounded like his tricks and the blood hallucination potion was something he’d only told one person about and, unless they were doing something highly illegal, there was no way to access it. 

But that was impossible, he’d been promised no one else would be doing what he did. He would be the only person doing his job, otherwise it would be even more risky, wouldn’t it? He thought so at least. The boss wasn’t an idiot, if he really had been training more he must’ve had a reason, he had to have. Manhunters were a pain in the ass to train. 

He didn’t have time to think about that now, George and the new guy, Sapnap, were already walking again. Perhaps he’d write a note to his boss and ask him, he doubted he’d get a response though; despite being the boss’s prized hunter he still often was deemed too lowly for most information and, in all honestly, it pissed him off.

Dream wanted more.

So much more.

Dream wanted power.


End file.
